


Adjustment Period

by kidotix



Series: this is not the scout camping trip we signed up for [1]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Maxwell is mentioned but his presence is borderline nonexistent, Pre-Series, Short One Shot, Smoking, and ofc death is meaningless in this game, i guess? it's way before anyone else gets pulled into the constant, mostly monologue on account of Wes is alone and can't talk, so the warning isn't tagged, vaguely implied crush but it's very minor, wes dies but it's not focused on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 12:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12841530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidotix/pseuds/kidotix
Summary: The first survivor has some trouble adjusting to the Constant. Something is still holding him back.





	Adjustment Period

Wes rolled the small cigarette between his fingers, leaning back against the tree next to his small fire, nudging the wood with his foot for a moment to stir the sparks up for just a bit longer. He'd had some things in his pockets with him, when he'd been taken to this strange place- his face paints, which he'd started learning roughly how to replace, his balloons, which seemed to never run out (a trick of the trade), some spare change that he doggedly held onto, and half of his last pack of cigarettes. He was glad to have something from before to keep him grounded, but even if death set him back to how he was when he'd first arrived here, what he had wouldn't last. When he died, after all, whatever small progress he'd made would vanish. He wasn't sure that was worth it.

It could have been worse. He knew how to make his balloons last, and his paint, so he was slowly starting to bear with eventually loosing what he'd brought with him. He wasn't sure what use his money could have been here, but it remained in his pockets, or else occasionally went to feeding the fire.

His pack was the problem- he didn't know how to imitate it, and once it ran out he started to become sick. He had no idea how long it could last, since by now he usually would die by then. Even rationing out what he had didn't last long at all.

Back home, the thought of coming ill because of something so small was negligible enough that he could easily dismiss it. While he was with the circus, it was practically fashionable. There wasn't much problem with holding off for a few moments around Wolfgang or the others, before stealing away to the back of the train with William to spare them the trouble, alone together for perhaps far longer than they needed. The man was quiet, but sweet, and very smart- Wes had cherished those moments for more than a few reasons.

Maybe the real problem he had was clinging to the memories he'd tied to the worthless little box.

Face showing red through smudged makeup, Wes shot up in a rush of anger and exhaustion, throwing the cigarette he was holding into the fire and watching it burn. The rest of them went after it, one by one, followed by the box and then all of the paper money he'd had with him. Wes piled straw and twigs on top until the fire was a blazing inferno, nearly out of control, and he had nothing left to put into it. Breathing heavily, Wes dragged a hand down his face, eyes squeezed shut. He already felt sick with regret- what was he thinking, throwing those away? He was a fool, and he wouldn't survive through the sickness.

He didn't even survive the night, burning up with the rest of the forest.

The next day he refused to rouse himself until Maxwell was gone, and built a fire only to light each cigarette one by one until he'd gone through them all. The darkness took him that night, and he accepted it.

It was only until the one that followed that he forced himself to a decision, standing uneasily by the edge of one of the cliffs. He couldn't think he would find a way home, not from a place like this- but he would try to do what he could, for now. And the first thing he would do was try to survive through his sickness. Wes bundled the box with the few dollars he'd held onto so he wouldn't see them, hesitating for several long moments before finally winding back and hurling the bundle into the ocean below him. He willed his memories of Paris and the Circus and Wolfgang and William to follow it, drowning in the waves while he dashed to the mainland and tried to survive.

He failed eventually, of course- he was frail, and eventually, something on the island would take his life. But he continued the small ritual every time he came back, and even if he failed at everything else, he could try and pride himself on slowly learning how to overcome the sickness that returned with him.

For however short it lasted, Wes could still convince himself that if he was able to overcome that, he would surely be able to eventually overcome the island. And even when all else failed, he could at least remember his one small victory as he wasted away.

**Author's Note:**

> Written 7/2/17  
> Fun fact: I was finally pushed to make an AO3 account to post the DS fics I'd written, but forgot to actually post them until now.


End file.
